Interrogation
by Luciferian Principle
Summary: It’s new year’s eve, and Alex spills secrets. For the Flash Rider community's January prompt. Yassen/Alex, slash, strong warnings. Illustrated.


**Interrogation**

Rating: NC-17  
Pairing: Yassen/Alex  
Summary: It's new year's eve, and Alex spills secrets.  
Warnings: Very mild reference to torture, Alex is still book-age.  
Extra: This fic comes with an illustration. Same warnings apply. **(NC-17. Nudity. Underage. NSFW.)** View here: http : // community . livejournal . com / flash_rider / 7722 . html

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Alex could hear the clock ticking. It was almost as loud as his unsteady breath.

"Don't you have anything else for me, Alex?" Hot air tickled against his ear, running down his bare skin, seeping into his spine and sending his body into a head to toe shiver. Goosebumps that had descended only minutes ago rose again, and Alex gasped as the hand on his bare thigh tightened its hold and the one around his cock eased its pressure.

He had to think. He wanted to think. He had to have control over himself. There had to be a way out of this, he told himself for the hundredth time that night. The only problem was that he didn't want a way out of this, and with every word that spilled from his lips, that was becoming increasingly apparent.

"Mrs. Jones." Breath. "Mrs. Jones lives in an apartment in Clerkenwell. There's-" The hand began to move again, ever so slowly. "There's a wall of bulletproof glass dividing it down the middle of the living room, almost unnoticeable if you're not looking for it," Alex gasped out quietly.

Behind him, Yassen Gregorovich hummed in response, right into his ear. Once again, Alex shivered. The assassin's hand didn't stop.

"She…." Alex began again, still soft as ever, "She keeps a bowl of peppermints on her desk. I think she's the only one who eats them. Ahh--" Pressure. Friction. Right there.

Alex's back was pressed into Yassen's front, and though his legs and arms were bound, he was essentially sitting on the man's lap. Since this began, he'd felt the man harden beneath him. The only barrier between them were Yassen's dark pants, and every once in a while Alex would squirm just so, grinding himself down and back against that hardness, just to feel like he had some control at all over the situation, or over Yassen. Other than that, he didn't have much, and they both knew it.

"What about Alan Blunt?" Lips moving against his bare neck now. Hot breath coming into contact with his skin. Hand still moving with pressure on every downward stroke. Alex whimpered, although he didn't mean to.

"I don't know where he lives." There was a clear note of desperation in the boy's voice as if he could apologize for this lack of knowledge and still keep Yassen touching him. "He's never given me anything. I swear." His voice had raised a few notes higher, pleading. 'Don't stop'. Those words never passed through his lips, but his head tilted back, trying to meet Yassen's gaze. If his eyes could do the pleading instead, maybe the killer would forgive him.

Above them the clock ticked along, counting down its endless march.

They'd been at this for so long it seemed, and not nearly long enough. Yassen took Alex through every detail the boy had on the inner workings of MI6. Before now, Alex hadn't thought he would have much useful information. He'd held out for as long as he could, but in the end…. There was nothing Alex could do.

That was a terrible lie.

He'd broken. He'd simply broken, and all Yassen had had to do was _touch_ him. Alex hadn't seen it coming. There was no way he could have expected this, nor how much he was willing to give up for it, and that broke him apart inside.

"They keep records…." Alex had to drag the words out of himself. The Russian's mouth closed over the juncture between the boy's neck and shoulder, biting, then licking, biting again, and sending tingles down Alex's frame.

The ticking clock echoed through the small, dark room, more muted than Alex's gasps and moans, which were ever increasing in volume.

Yassen's grip was tightening. He was pulling the boy back against him more and more, but he kept his pace steady. Alex couldn't stand it.

He came with a soft cry, mouth falling open in an expression that could easily have been misread as pain and freezing that way. His head tilted back into the assassin as much as he could, trying to increase their contact. Above him the clock chimed midnight with twelve bells that reverberated through Alex like aftershocks of his orgasm.

"Thank you, dear Alex," Yassen whispered into his ear.

As fireworks began in the distance, Alex knew he'd never be able to face MI6 again.

-


End file.
